Everybody Knows
by Francesca Monterone
Summary: Four years after the Inception job, there's a wedding to attend... and of course, everybody has long seen it coming…
1. Prologue

**Title: **Everybody Knows  
><strong>Fandom: <strong>Inception  
><strong>Genre: <strong>Romance/Humor  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>Arthur/Eames  
><strong>Rating: <strong>T

_Everybody knows that no matter how surprising a revelation may be, there will always be some people claiming that they knew all along..._

_Everybody knows that I don't own Inception..._

_Everybody knows is a song by Leonard Cohen..._

* * *

><p><em>Everybody knows, everybody knows <em>  
><em> That's how it goes <em>  
><em> Everybody knows<br>L. Cohen, "Everybody Knows"_

* * *

><p>If someone would ask him, ten years from now, if he had ever been at the right place, at the right time, he would smile and remember this moment.<p>

It was perfect.

There was a light, warm breeze blowing across the turquoise water of the bay, rustling palm leaves, carrying soft, cheerful chatter and the scent of tropical flowers. Rich, golden afternoon sunlight painted patterns on the wooden veranda and glittering reflexes on Ariadne's hair. He saw the mirth on Yusuf's face, as he leant forward, laughing at something Eames had just said. Saito raised a sparkling glass of champagne, smiling. The musical trickle of Philippa's voice interwove with Robert's smooth tenor, as she asked him and he answered. The white rose Arthur was wearing with his magnificent black suit had slipped away as he bent forward, and James was now trying to tuck it back in. Eames reached across the table to help him, his face open, happy, glowing. "Cheers," Ariadne said, as she rose her glass, clinking it with Saito's. "To many more happy days to come…"

Yes, it was perfect.

But then, Arthur was a perfectionist, so what had he been expecting?

He smiled to himself. "Well, finally…"

Arthur, now with his flower restored to its original place, turned to face him. "Happy, Dom? You've known all along, haven't you?"

"Known that I would attend your wedding one day? Yes, I was pretty sure that you'd invite me. I was just hoping that all three of us would still be around when the time came…"

"Was that a hint?" Arthur asked, raising his brows in mock disapproval.

"Well, it only took you ten years to decide," Dom replied with a dramatic sigh that earned him a round of good-natured chuckles.

"Ten years?" Eames asked. "I barely even knew you guys ten years ago."

"Actually, you met both of us ten years from tomorrow, which I'm sure is no coincidence, since Arthur is the mastermind behind the planning of this entire wedding and he _always_ pays attention to such details. It's a symbolic date."

Arthur shrugged. "Oh well, I guess you got me there. Yes it was in fact ten years ago. But back then, none of us had any idea that we'd ever be sitting here."

"I had," Dom disagreed. "I knew within the first ten minutes of that meeting that something was going on. It was written on your face in five inch tall, red, flashing letters, Arthur: I want this guy. And since you always get what you want, it was only a matter of time."

More chuckles.

"Come on," Eames said, "you're exaggerating. You're good, Dom, but you're not that good."

"Well it _was_ pretty obvious when _I _met you guys," Ariadne said.

"I knew six years ago," Philippa piped.

"There was never any question of whether or not, it was merely a question of _when_," Saito agreed.

"That's what everybody always says afterwards," Eames said, "I'm not buying it."

"You know, let's swap stories of how we found out," Ariadne suggested, grinning. "An appropriate pastime on the day before the wedding, and I bet, it'd be fun to hear."

"I'm all ears," Arthur said, leaning back in his chair.

"Great. Who is to start?"

"I will, let's do this chronologically. But I will have to tell two stories, since Mal isn't here to tell hers." A brief shadow crossed his face. Ariadne noticed and laid a hand over his.

"Sure. The floor is all yours."


	2. Dom

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Arthur asked for the umpteenth time.

Dom sighed. "Yes. And if you ask me that one more time, I'll tape your mouth shut."

"I did a background check on this guy," Arthur insisted, "and his reputation is shady at best. He is a thief, a liar, a professional gambler and known for solving his problems with his fists or a weapon rather than with words. Do we really want to work with someone like that?"

Now seriously getting annoyed, Dom turned to face him. "No, Arthur, we don't," he barked, "but we have no choice. Now is not the time to get squeamish about Mr. Eames' background, not when he's the only person capable of getting us out of this mess."

Arthur shrugged. "I'm glad to finally hear you admit that. So we need him… but we won't trust him."

"I'm not sure I trust _you_, and I've known you for two years now. Does that answer your question?"

Arthur was about to reply something, when the door swung open and a loud, cheerful voice announced: "Honey, I'm home!"

Both men tensed and warily studied the stranger who had just entered the room. He was tall, well-built and dressed like somebody who covers his body for no other reason than a primeval sense of decency, but without even a modicum of style, taste or interest. His dark hair was unruly and appeared to be slightly wet, maybe from an impromptu shower. He sauntered into the room as if he felt perfectly at ease, happy and unconcerned.

"Mr. Daniel Eames, I presume?" Dom advanced two paces and stretched out a hand.

"Quite," the man replied, wrapping a large, sun-tanned prank around Dom's hand and squeezing it. "Pleased to meet you. You can forget my first name right away since nobody uses it anyway." His eyes darted around the room, lively, dark grey and curious. When they found Arthur's face, he paused. "Who's this?"

Dom waited for Arthur to introduce himself, but the point man was staring at Eames suspiciously, his own eyes narrowed.

"Arthur Daley, my point man."

Eames studied Arthur with the sort of curiosity a thief might be expected to reserve for precious artifacts or jewelry. Dom didn't like that look, particularly because he was pretty sure that Arthur was not going to like it, and the tension in the room was already tangible enough to walk on.

"Arthur," Eames rolled the name off his tongue as if trying to get accustomed to the feel of it. "Did he call you away from your high school graduation for my sake?"

Arthur frowned. "What?"

"Well," Eames waved a vague hand at the dark grey suit Arthur was wearing, "you are overdressed for the occasion, and you are what, seventeen? Eighteen?"

_Bad mistake_, Dom thought, waiting for the explosion.

Arthur's eyes narrowed even further. "I'll have you know that I am twenty-two and that I finished college two months ago," he replied stiffly.

"Oh?" Eames asked innocently. "Could have fooled me. But still, the look suits you." He ran his eyes over Arthur's slender body appreciatively.

Arthur stared back unblinking.

Dom harrumphed. "Okay, can we get down to business?" He pointed to the low table covered with papers.

"Sure," Eames said, strolling over. As he did so, Dom watched Arthur's eyes following him. It was no surprise that the point man didn't trust Eames, but staring holes into his back wouldn't help.

"So, you ran into a bit of a tight spot and now you need a forger to help you out," Eames said.

"That pretty much sums it up," Dom agreed.

Eames nodded, then cast a glance at Arthur, who was now standing next to Dom and still staring at him. "I need a general overview."

While Arthur launched into a description of the job at hand and a brief summary of what had happened up to this point, Dom watched the two of them. He had no way to be sure, but he thought that he had seen something else besides hostility in Arthur's gaze. But that was impossible, right? His point man was colder than a dead fish and Eames had insulted him on first sight. No. Surely not.

"Okay," Eames said when Arthur had finished, "sounds rather straightforward and simple. I impersonate this guy and get the mark to talk, you'll learn what you need to know and that's that. By the way – who's going to be the dreamer? You?" He raised a suggestive eyebrow at Arthur, who looked as if he could barely contain a deep desire to hit this obnoxious idiot.

"Mal. My wife," Dom said quickly, deeming it wise not to give Arthur a chance to reply.

"You're married," Eames realized, sounding faintly surprised, but then he returned his attention to Arthur. "Still… what a shame. I would have welcomed a chance to enter your mind… see if it lives up to the exterior… "

Actually, there was nothing particularly troubling about this statement – except for the fact that it was spoken in such a low, suggestive bedroom voice as would have benefitted Cary Grant. Dom frowned. This was truly inappropriate. After all, they were trying to set up a working relationship here.

He fully expected Arthur to lash out at the forger now, but Arthur surprised him by actually remaining silent and blushing furiously.

Okay. So maybe it was a deep desire to do something entirely else…?

Dom shook his head in disbelief. _Who are you and what have you done to my point man?_

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><p><em>Thank you so much for your lovely reviews, guys! I hope the first chapter meets your expectations.<br>_


	3. Mal

"Dom! Arthur! Care to explain what the hell happened here?" Mal stood before them, her hands on her hips, glowering. Slender, beautiful women usually have a hard time looking menacing rather than appealing, but Mal managed it effortlessly.

Both men looked at her rather sheepishly. Arthur, being the younger and more impressionable of the two, blushed. The blush went well with the blue and green stripes on his face and the splotches of bright yellow on his shirt and pants. Even his shoes were sprinkled in various colors.

"We… uh…" Arthur seemed at a loss.

"The baby was crying for no apparent reason," Dom stepped in. "Arthur went to check on him, while I stayed here with Philippa, who was painting. Arthur couldn't get him to stop, though, so he called me, and we tried to figure out what was wrong with James. We really didn't leave Philippa alone for a long time, but when we came back… well…"

"Just how idiotic is that?" Mal flared. "Domenic Cobb, you do NOT leave a three-year-old alone in a room with a couple of painting pots! Never!"

"But the baby could have been sick or something," Arthur pointed out.

"He was probably just bored because you left him alone in his room while Philippa got to have fun painting." Mal ran her gaze over the newly re-painted room and the now brightly colored men. "Looks like she had a lot of fun, actually. And you do know who is going to clean up this mess, while I give the little Picasso a bath, don't you? By the way, Arthur, you ought to wash your hands: they're blue."

Arthur looked down at his hands in alarm. "Oh."

"Very eloquent indeed," Mal snorted. "Where's Philippa?"

"Bathroom," Dom said. "I figured she could do less damage there, because the tiles are easier to clean."

"That's quite probably the first sensible thing you came up with today," Mal said. "Did you lock the door?"

The look of terror that spread across his face was almost comical.

* * *

><p>"Dom?" Mal asked that night when they were wrapped up in the quiet darkness of their bedroom.<p>

He turned towards her. "Huh?"

"Did you know about Arthur and Eames…?"

A moment of (probably shocked) silence, then: "Are you implying that…?"

Mal smirked. "Well, actually not implying, but rather strongly suggesting. I've no idea what exactly it is that they share, but there's definitely something going on between those two."

"Arthur hates Eames."

"Hate is such a strong word, dear. Let's say that Arthur tends to get supremely annoyed whenever Eames opens his mouth. It does seem that he has found a way to shut him up, though."

"Oh?"

"When I had finally gotten Philippa all cleaned and spotless this afternoon, I was carrying her back to her bedroom to get dressed, and on the way there, I ran into Eames, who was on the way to the bathroom himself. His neck was blue."

"Huh? So what's that got to do with Arthur…?"

Sometimes, men were just infuriatingly slow.

"Well, Arthur had dipped his hands into blue paint sometime before I arrived, because they were all blue when I told you off for leaving Philippa to her own devices. And there are really just two ways that paint could have gotten on Eames' neck: either Arthur tried to strangle him, or he was hugging him and stroking a hand up his neck. People usually do that when they kiss. Like this," and she proceeded to show him.

"My God," Dom said, after half-heartedly returning the kiss. "So it's true…"

"You had your suspicions, didn't you?"

"Yes, but… I always pegged Arthur for some sort of asexual being, and Eames of all people…?"

"Arthur?" Mal laughed. "On what planet are you living, Dom? Arthur is about as asexual as Marilyn Monroe in her little petticoat. Everything about him, the way he moves, the way he dresses, suggests sensuality, he just covers it with that poker face and a coating of formality. I think he only wears those suits to evoke the desire to peel him out of them in other people… even though I think Eames is more the cloth-ripping kind of guy." She paused before adding: "You know, maybe we ought to give him a pair of scissors for his next birthday… "

"Mal!"

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><p><em>PS: Mal didn't really give Eames those scissors for his birthday. Arthur would have hated her for that.<em>

_Once again, thanks for those wonderful reviews! They really made my day. Next, it will be Philippa's turn..._


	4. Philippa

Thinking back, Philippa was still a little bit mad at Arthur for ruining her sixth birthday. Of course, if you were perfectly honest and fair, it wasn't really his fault that he came down with a ruptured appendix approximately four hours before her great day began.

It was half past six, and Philippa had jumped out of her bed and raced to her parent's bedroom the minute she was awake enough to do so. This was her day, and hers alone! And there was so much to do…!

"Mummy! Daddy!"

Mummy and Daddy were not exactly delighted to be woken up by an excited little girl throwing herself onto their bed. Dom groaned, turning from his back to his stomach and pulling the blanket over his head. Mal blinked and rubbed her eyes with a hand. "Philippa, no, honey…"

Philippa pouted and crossed her arms. "It's my birthday!"

"Yes, we know, love." Mal yawned. "But it's also very early in the morning."

"It's not early!" Philippa protested.

"Yes, it is," her father grumbled.

"Listen, why don't you go wash your face and dress while Mummy and Daddy get up?" Mal suggested.

"'Kay." At least they were going to get up. Sleepy grown-ups really were no fun at all!

Leaving the room, Philippa heard her father mumble: "Remind me again why we decided to have kids?"

"Because you thought it was a good idea and they would be kind of cute," Mal replied promptly.

Dom groaned.

Just then, the phone rang. "I'll get it! It's probably for me anyway!" Philippa called out happily. "Maybe Grandma is calling to wish me happy birthday!"

"I doubt your grandma would call at this hour," Mal remarked, but Philippa barely heard her, she was already racing down the stairs to the living room.

To her very great disappointment, her mother was right, though. Instead of to a well-wishing grandmother, Philippa got to talk to a seriously discomposed Eames as she picked up the phone.

"Dom? Mal?"

"It's Philippa."

"Phil… I need you to get your parents. Now."

"They are just getting up," Philippa informed him. "You didn't even say hello!"

"Philippa, please. It's important."

"It's my birthday," Philippa said, upset by this lack of consideration.

"Yeah, well that's nice. Now go get your parents." He sounded very upset, Philippa pondered.

"Are you hurt?" She asked. "Did you catch the measles?" James had caught the measles a month ago, and he had been difficult and unfriendly for five days, so Philippa supposed that being sick maybe caused people, who were usually nice and easygoing to get all grumpy and upset.

"The…? No, I'm fine. It's Arthur who's sick."

"Arthur!" Philippa said in surprise and sudden concern. She liked Arthur a lot; she did not want him to be sick. Especially not on her birthday, because he had promised to come and bring ice cream. "Does he need to see the doctor?"

"Actually, he's at the hospital right now."

"At the hospital? That's bad, isn't it? I'll get Mummy."

Eames breathed an audible sigh of relief, but before he could say anything else, Philippa slammed down the receiver and rushed back upstairs to alert her parents.

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><p>It took Dom twenty minutes to get a hold of Eames again, due to the fact that he was at the hospital with Arthur and had had to turn his cell phone off. He turned the phone on speaker then, so that Mal, who was standing next to him with sleepy James on her hip, could listen in.<p>

"… complained about abdominal pain, and I told him to see a doctor, but you know Arthur, he's so goddamn stubborn…" Eames' voice wafted across the miles. "He insisted on finishing his work, and by the time my plane landed, it had gotten so bad that I took him to the hospital right away. Doctors say it's a ruptured appendix."

Dom cursed under his breath. "Listen, Eames, how bad…?"

"Bad." Eames' voice sounded strained.

"We'll come right away," Mal decided. "It's a two hour drive, but we'll be there, okay, Eames?"

"Okay." He sounded relieved, but still very worried.

Philippa tugged at her mother's sleeve. "But Mummy… it's my birthday! We can't go there!"

"Hush, dear, Arthur is sick. We need to go see him… I promise you we'll make it up."

"But… that's not fair!"

Strangely enough, nobody cared about that. Philippa then threw a temper tantrum, but it only served to make her mother snap at her, so she sat in the back of the car, pouting.

Why did Arthur have to get sick on her birthday?

* * *

><p>The hospital was huge. White-robed medical staff bustled through the hallways, and Philippa felt intimidated by all the strange people, strange smells, strange sights and the hushed atmosphere. A helpful young nurse led the entire family to a waiting area, as white and impersonal as the rest of the hospital.<p>

Eames, looking even more disheveled than usual, which was probably due to a combination of jetlag and worry bordering on panic, stood up to greet them.

"He's in surgery."

Dom nodded. Mal proceeded to lay a hand on Eames' arm.

"Did the doctors say anything?"

Eames snorted. "They said a lot, most of which I didn't understand. The gist of it is that Arthur's an idiot for not doing something about this sooner and that it's acute… but I was able to see that without any medical expertise… Arthur's never incoherent, unless there's something seriously wrong with him." He tried to smile and failed miserably.

They all sat down, Philippa climbing onto her father's lap. Dom was too preoccupied to really notice it, but he absentmindedly put an arm around her.

Eames slumped down into his chair, and suddenly, Philippa saw that his cheeks were wet.

"Why are you crying? Mum? Why is Eames crying?"

Her mother exchanged a look with her father over the top of Eames' head. Philippa didn't quite understand the meaning of that look, but there were a lot of things about grown-ups that she did not understand.

"He is upset, because he really likes Arthur," Mal told her kindly. "If James were really sick, you would be upset, too, wouldn't you?"

"More sick than last time?" Philippa inquired.

"A lot more sick than last time."

"Oh." That sort of made sense. Poor Eames, though. Philippa considered the matter for a moment, then leant her head against Eames' shoulder and reached up to touch his cheek with her small hand. "I also like Arthur a lot," she told him. "But I'm sure, he will get well again, and then we can all have ice cream together."

There, that was bound to cheer him up, wasn't it?

Eames looked down at her, a watery smile crossing his face.

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><p>It was another eight weeks before Arthur was well enough to have ice cream with them, but they had an unforgettable afternoon. Eames actually beat Philippa by one chocolate sundae, but she didn't hold a grudge. And when she saw Arthur and Eames share a banana split, she knew that what she was seeing had to be true love. After all, people didn't voluntarily share ice cream if they did not really, really love each other, did they?<p>

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><p><em>Trying to write from a six-year-old's point of perspective is surprisingly challenging, when you're twenty two... still, I hope you enjoyed this. <em>


	5. Ariadne

After the Inception job, Ariadne had no desire to ever meet Cobb, Arthur, Eames and everybody else involved with it again. Or so she told herself.

She returned to Paris; to her studies, her roommate, her cat, her wonderfully normal friends, who were only interested in the sort of normal things young people did to entertain themselves – parties, music, alcohol, sex - but certainly not dream-sharing or planting ideas in somebody else's head.

But Dom and Arthur had been right… those dreams were addictive. And once you'd had a taste of the poison, you would never be completely free of it again. Also, normal just didn't seem to be exciting enough for her. The people she had known and liked for years seemed dull and colorless to her now. There was an entire world out there, an enticing world of half-legal and illegal deals, of guns and chases, elaborate shams and dreams of terrifying beauty that seemed more real than anything she had seen before. A world her normal, boring contemporaries would never know about…

So when on a rainy spring evening she got a call from an unknown, foreign number, picked up and heard Eames voice, the way he drew out the words as if to fill them with illicit promises, she felt her heartbeat speed up.

"Eames! Where are you?"

He chuckled. "Does it matter?"

It didn't. Not really. Wherever he was, it was probably a lot more exciting than Paris on a rainy spring night.

"Are the others with you?"

"The others?" He sounded amused. "There are plenty of people here, dear."

"You know what I mean."

"Cobb is here… working, as always. There's no other way to drag him out of the house and away from his kids these days than by proposing a job and saying that yes, it's perfectly safe – and therefore boring. Yusuf is due to arrive tomorrow, his plane was delayed in Dubai, and he was spluttering some of the vilest curses I've ever heard when I talked to him an hour ago." Eames laughed.

"And Arthur?"

"Arthur's here alright. He's spent the last two hours searching for his totem."

"His totem? What happened?"

"Well, you see, Arthur's totem is a loaded die."

Ariadne nodded, she knew that.

"We're at the Monte Carlo Casino. You see how this could potentially be embarrassing?"

Ariadne did, and a grin spread across her face. "How… careless of Arthur to lose his totem in such a place," she replied mirthfully. "You should help him search for it."

"I will do no such thing. It's way too much fun watching him get all riled up about it."

"Eames, you're evil."

"I know. And I enjoy every minute of it… now, are you coming?"

"You want me to come to Monte Carlo?" Ariadne asked incredulously. "I've got classes tomorrow."

"So skip them. It's Friday anyway."

"Eames, I can't do that."

"Why not?"

Such a simple little question, but it had a tremendous effect.

* * *

><p>Ariadne ended up skipping her classes and taking the red-eye flight that – surprisingly enough – had already been booked for her. Knowing Eames, though, she had made sure there was a return flight booked for Sunday night, before boarding the plane.<p>

Eames, wearing an impeccable grey suit with a burgundy shirt and silk tie, scooped her up in a bear hug. "I missed you, little girl."

Ariadne snorted. "Yeah, right. You never bothered to call."

"I was busy."

"Uh-huh. Where's your better half?"

"Arthur would object to that term," Eames teased.

"Arthur objects to anything even remotely related to you, so that point is moot. I'm actually wondering why he's even here with you."

"I blackmailed him."

Ariadne laughed. "Silly me, I should have known." She linked arms with him and they walked to the waiting car.

* * *

><p>"Eames, you should not have brought her here." Dom said, after he had recovered from the shock of seeing her walk into the suite.<p>

"You don't seem happy to see me," Ariadne pouted. "I actually _missed_ you, Cobb."

His expression softened slightly. "I just thought that you had better things to do than joining us for another half-legal venture. You've always been a serious student."

"Yes, but even serious students need to have fun sometimes, don't they?" Eames cut in with a conspiratorial wink.

Ariadne grinned.

"Ariadne."

Arthur walked in from an adjoining room, seeming bewildered, but not displeased to see her. After a quick hug, he turned to Eames. "I guess this is your doing."

Eames shrugged.

"Are you all staying here together?" Ariadne asked, thinking that that was a sure way to attract trouble, given Dom's predilection for staying up late, Yusuf's tendency to snore and the explosive chemistry between Arthur and Eames that was bound to erupt into a fight if you locked the two of them up together for too long.

"No. Absolutely not," Dom said with a visible shudder. "I can stand_ either_ Arthur _or_ Eames, but not both of them at the same time. And I'm sure Yusuf feels much the same. " He shot the forger and point man a meaningful look.

_Wait_. That actually meant it was only Arthur and Eames staying together. Huh. Ariadne wondered who was the mastermind behind _that_ arrangement (probably Eames, who took immeasurable delight in vexing Arthur…) and how it would end (quite probably with a dead or seriously maimed Eames…).

"Have you found your totem yet?" She asked Arthur.

He shook his head, scowling.

"There, there, pet," Eames said, patting his shoulder, "we'll get you a new one. I always thought something expensive and flashy would fit you better, anyway."

Arthur slapped his hand away. "Don't you dare, Eames," he warned.

Eames' grin was wide as the sky on a sunny day, making Ariadne wonder what exactly she had missed during that little exchange.

* * *

><p>"It's unlike Arthur to simply lose his totem like that," Ariadne said to Dom as they watched the point man circle one of the gambling tables that night. "Do you think Eames pocketed it just to annoy him?"<p>

"Not if he wants to keep all of his fingers and toes… and other body parts," Dom replied drily.

Ariadne laughed. "So they're still as bad."

"It's progressively getting worse."

"They'll end up killing each other one of these days."

"That's very likely," he agreed.

"You know, that's a weird relationship."

Dom sighed. "Watch," he said simply, and Ariadne did.

She saw Eames get up from the table where he had just won another game, gracefully wish his fellow players a nice evening and move towards the bar, where he joined Arthur. They were too far way for Ariadne to hear what they were saying, but she was pretty good at reading body language, especially when it was as expressive as Arthur's.

Eames moved up behind him, sneaking an arm around his hip, which resulted in Arthur placing a well-aimed elbow in the pit of his stomach.

Eames twisted and danced out of his way, a wounded expression on his face, that didn't fool Ariadne, and probably wouldn't fool Arthur either.

Or maybe it did, because Arthur leaned closer, with an almost concerned look, placing a hand on Eames arm. Apologizing? Probably. Arthur was polite, after all.

Eames whined, still holding his stomach and using that helpless-puppy-look he did so well. Arthur apparently fell for it, moved even closer and touched his cheek.

_Huh?_

They were standing close enough for a kiss or an embrace now, and Eames made a move forward that could be interpreted as leading to either or both, but Arthur was faster than him. His right hand dashed into the inner pocket of Eames' suit jacket and emerged, holding a tiny red object.

Arthur stepped back, his expression accusatory. "I knew it!"

Okay, now, that was loud enough to be heard across the room.

Eames held up his hands in surrender, but Arthur was not to be placated that easily.

Arthur, his expression outraged, said something that was probably far from complimentary and closed his hand around his totem. Ariadne remembered what he had told her upon first showing her the loaded die. It would be useless to him now.

Turning his back to Eames, the point man walked towards her and Dom, his eyes narrowed, his mouth set in a thin line.

Eames followed him.

"Uh-oh," Ariadne said. "There will be blood… why did Eames have to do that? He knows perfectly well that Arthur doesn't appreciate his sense of humor. "

"Watch," was all Dom said in reply.

Eames had by now caught up with Arthur and reached out to grab his arm. Arthur spun around, his facial expression screaming violent murder.

"Don't go there," he hissed. "That was NOT funny, Eames!"

"Yes, it was," Eames argued, still smiling fondly, and Ariadne wondered how he could remain so calm in the face of Arthur's wrath. "Now, if you would please let me explain…?"

"You've got three seconds. If it's not a sincere apology, I don't want to hear it."

"You picked the wrong pocket," Eames told him amiably.

"I… what? If this is another of your nonsensical jokes…!"

"Left pocket, darling."

"Eames, I am warning you…"

"Reach into my left pocket," Eames replied nonplussed.

Arthur looked at him with narrow eyes for a moment, as if trying to determine whether or not this was a further attempt to make fun of him, but then he did as Eames had told him to do. Eames' body was shielding them, so Ariadne could not see what Arthur pulled out of that pocket, but whatever it was, it did not appear to be to his liking, as it earned Eames nothing but a slap in the face – a hard one – and a good look at Arthur's retreating form as he stormed from the room.

Eames stood there for a minute or two, his mouth slightly opened, holding his burning cheek and looking somewhat lost, before he bent down to pick something up from the carpeted floor.

Ariadne saw a faint glitter, and it took her brain a long moment to process what this thing was.

A golden engagement ring.

"I would not advise coming anywhere _near_ their suite tonight," Dom said matter-of-factly as they watched Eames slowly follow Arthur out of the room.

* * *

><p><em>If you want to know what song was playing in my head while I was writing this chapter, I recommend listening to "Gambling Man" performed by "The Overtones". Try to watch the official video, it's rather fiitting...;)<br>_

_Next one up is Yusuf, who is in for a big surprise when he knocks on the wrong door after finally making it to Monte Carlo…_


	6. Yusuf

Yusuf couldn't remember ever having felt as bad as he did right now, not even after accidentally swallowing one of his own compounds at an inopportune moment and falling into a two-day coma. Tired did not even _begin_ to cover it, nor did exhausted… worn out… beat… spent…

He had been awake for more hours than he could count, all due to a combination of a technical defect, a sick pilot, several screaming children and an escaped pug that had led the cabin crew on a merry two-hour chase.

He would have literally killed for a bed and eight to ten hours of untroubled sleep right now.

Since he knew all about Dom's insomnia (and its causes), Arthur's habit of staying up late to go over his meticulously kept notes, Eames' predilection for seedy bars (even though Yusuf doubted that there were many of those in Monte Carlo) and Ariadne's fear of missing anything if she went to bed too early, he counted on them to still be awake.

When he found that Dom and Ariadne had apparently gone out together for drinks, Yusuf entertained a brief vision of the pretty little architect sinking into her mentor's arms, but quickly dismissed it. Both Ariadne and Dom were way too professional to allow such a thing, and while they were on excellent terms, they would never be more than friends. Besides, Dom wasn't the kind of man who would enter into a relationship with his protégée.

As for the other two members of their little team, Yusuf assumed that Eames had either joined Dom and Ariadne, or gone out by himself. Monte Carlo was just too tempting a place for a semi-professional gambler… and Arthur – well, Arthur was way more likely to be found perched over his papers or reading a book than at a gambling table or in a bar.

Yusuf actually felt a little relieved. Arthur would understand. Arthur would show him his room, wish him a good night and make sure that nobody disturbed him. And that was all he asked for.

He knocked at the door, listened, but everything was quiet. They probably had good soundproofing in a hotel like this… for various reasons. Yusuf rapped again, louder this time.

_Come on, Arthur, open the goddamn door._

Nothing.

Oh well. Seemed like he would have to do this the impolite way. Yusuf still pined for good old-fashioned lock picking, but he had learned to disable a keycard system just as fast (Eames had helped with that). It was all a matter of practice and proper equipment… Arthur would probably mind, but Yusuf was just too tired to bring himself to care.

His fingers were shaking, which made the process more difficult, but eventually, he managed to get it right. The door opened, and Yusuf more stumbled than stepped into an elegantly furnished suite. The lights in the main living room area were dimmed down to a minimum, the semi-darkness soothing for his tired eyes.

Arthur was probably in the bedroom, reading. Or rather: in one of the bedrooms, since there appeared to be at least two, judging from the number of doors. Yusuf idly wondered who he was sharing with. Dom? That would have made sense. Dom and Arthur not only worked well together, but they were also close friends and had been for years.

He quietly moved towards the bedroom door closest to him, gently rapping his knuckles against it, just in case the occupant of this room was already asleep.

No verbal reply, no reply at all.

Yusuf pushed open the door. "Arthur? Arthur, it's me, Yusuf. Can I come in?"

The light in the bedroom was dimmed; and such half-light, combined with jetlag and some serious lack of sleep could play odd tricks upon the mind, yet if Yusuf's mind had dreamt up the scene that presented itself to him now, it was in even worse shape than he had previously thought.

Arthur was asleep; though how he had ever managed to get as far completely eluded Yusuf. _Nobody_, nobody, not even Arthur, went to sleep in a position like that. Yusuf was shocked enough to find that the point man was naked, at least down to the waist, and possibly even below that, though the rest of him was thankfully covered with a sheet. What really disturbed him, though, was the fact that Arthur's wrists were tied to the wrought iron bedposts. Bound with a set of black, silken ties; the left arm had slipped down and lay flat and spread out on the bed, the wrist only loosely circled by its former binding. The right arm, though, was still bound.

_That arm is going to hurt like hell when he wakes up_, a strangely detached part of Yusuf's mind noted, before adding: _Arthur is going to have a fit when he sees what happened to those ties…_

He was positive that those ties were Arthur's and had not initially been intended for this sort of thing, but rather as accessories for one of those well fitting suits. As for who had so shamefully diverted them from their intended use… well, Eames was sleeping peacefully, his strong, well-muscled body a strange contrast to Arthur's lithe features. His head rested on the other man's chest as if to say _'pillows are so totally overrated, pet'_.

_How the hell did they end up here?_

Actually, there weren't that many explanations. Yusuf's mind flat-out refused the most obvious one, focusing instead on the idea that Eames had probably drugged Arthur and artfully arranged this little scene merely for the fun of it.

Suddenly, he became aware of the fact that someone was watching him. Half-closed bluish-gray eyes had settled on the intruder, their gaze still a little clouded with sleep.

"Eames, what on Earth…?" Yusuf whispered.

A slow smile spread over Eames' face, widening itself to the single most self-satisfied grin Yusuf had ever seen.

"Rather obvious, no?" Eames purred.

"You… Arthur will kill you. Or me. Or both of us. And I need brain-soap. Seriously! Or alcohol. Lots of alcohol. Something that'll make sure I won't remember this tomorrow! You know what – just get me the key to my room. I don't want to know anything about this!"

"Living room, on the glass table. Room number is 207."

"Thanks." Yusuf breathed, taking a step backwards. At the door he remembered something. "You know, you should probably untie him. Blood circulation and all that. Wouldn't want to lose our point man because of your… anyway…"

Eames grinned again, a brief flash of teeth. "Maybe I should. But you ought to get out before I wake him… out of the suite. Probably off this floor. _Maybe_ out of the building…"

Yusuf fled, deciding that he'd had enough for one night.

* * *

><p><em>Poor Yusuf... My grin was almost as broad as Eames' when I wrote this, and all the while I had "Eine Nacht in Monte Carlo" ("A night in Monte Carlo"), which is a classic tango, playing in my head. Evil me, huh? ;)<br>_

_Once again, thank you so much for your wonderful reviews. It's a combination of them and caffeine (lots and lots of caffeine...) that keeps me going_ ^^


	7. Saito

"…_Goldfinger. ..He's the man, the man with Midas touch… A spider's touch…"_

One of the best things about five star hotels was that their suites usually came with excellent soundproofing – thus allowing their guests to sing embarrassingly loud and off-key, if they felt like it.

_"…Such a cold finger… Beckons you, to enter his web of sin… But don't go in…"_

Another nice thing about those luxury hotels…? Bathrooms big enough to dance in, while doing your morning routine, even though singing with a toothbrush in your mouth admittedly was difficult.

"…_Golden words he will pour in your ear, but his lies can't disguise what you fear… For a golden girl knows when he's kissed her, it's the kiss of death, from Mr. Goldfinger… Pretty girl, beware of his heart of gold…_

_This heart is cold!"_

What he appreciated most, though, was the discretion that could be bought for a comparatively small amount of money. After all, it would have been somewhat embarrassing, if somebody had caught him singing and dancing around in the bathroom like a fool, his face covered in shaving cream.

"…_Golden words he will pour in your ear, but his lies can't disguise what you fear… For a golden girl knows when he's kissed her, it's the kiss of death, from Mr. Goldfinger… Pretty girl, beware of his heart of gold… This heart is-"_

A soft chuckle behind him made him stop abruptly and whirl around.

"Morning person, aren't you, Saito…?"

Eames.

_Fuck._

And not two steps behind him, Arthur, who added: "Interesting choice in music, too. But certainly very… fitting…" The corners of his mouth were twitching, but being Arthur, he would not allow himself to laugh.

Saito groaned. Of all the people to walk in on him behaving like a fool, Arthur was certainly the worst. Well, maybe apart from Maurice Fischer, but the old bastard had been dead for over a year now, and he would hopefully remain that way.

Since he could not bear to look at Arthur – prim, proper, upright, serious Arthur, who had probably never in his life been caught doing anything inappropriate – well, except for shooting people in the head on occasion, his mind supplied. Instead, he decided to focus on Eames. Being caught by Eames was slightly less bad, somehow. Maybe, because Eames would view the entire matter as being hilarious, rather than embarrassing and while he might tease Saito about it for a while, you could not lose your face in front of somebody who so shamefully disregarded all standards of propriety.

"Ah well, you got me there, Mr. Eames…", he said lightly. "My only flaw."

"Apart from singing Shirley Bassey songs in the shower," Eames replied, grinning.

"There's a reason I'm not married," Saito said, shrugging, "I like my freedom. And besides, I wasn't exactly in the shower. I would have strongly objected to the two of you entering my bathroom while I was in the shower."

"So would Arthur, judging from the look on his face."

Arthur looked slightly nonplussed, but managed a small smile. "Uh, awkward… I was against entering your rooms at all, but Eames doesn't believe in knocking on doors, so I followed him to make sure he'd behave."

"Indeed," Saito said, raising his brows. "Well, I must say, so far, you are not doing a very good job."

"He was probably distracted by your musical talent," Eames threw in, the grin still broadening.

"He sings better than you," Arthur huffed.

"Why, I'm flattered…!" Saito said, before proceeding to wipe the cream of his chin.

"It's not to say much," Eames disillusioned him promptly, "Arthur hates my singing."

"Why am I not surprised…?" Arthur and Eames were polar opposites. The forger delighted in teasing and annoying the point man, who in turn objected to almost everything Eames did. Saito had never quite understood that little game of theirs, but as long as they both had fun playing it, who was he to care…? It was fun watching them, too.

"Well, now that you've learned of this embarrassing little secret of mine, I think it would be only fair if you told me one of yours in return," Saito said to Eames, winking.

Eames shrugged. "I don't have any."

"Because unfortunately, he isn't embarrassed by anything," Arthur added, pulling a face as if remembering something particularly horrible Eames had said or done in the past.

"Now, now, let's not be unfair, pet," Eames replied mildly, "you are prudish enough for the both of us."

"A match made in heaven," Saito chuckled.

"Not exactly," Arthur said, frowning.

"Not _yet_," Eames amended. "We'll get there eventually."

Arthur looked doubtful.

Saito smiled. "I think, even though Mr. Eames may not keep any embarrassing secrets, he does keep a rather precious one."

* * *

><p><em>Sleep deprivation will do odd things to you... this morning, I had a fleeting vision of Saito singing "Goldfinger", the theme song from the James Bond movie at the top of his voice, and I just couldn't resist... ;) I hope you had fun reading this. Robert will be next (and probably last, but I might do a bonus chapter). <em>


	8. Robert

"Robert is not going to like this," Arthur warned in a hushed voice as they carefully moved through the nightly garden. The lawn was wet with dew, causing his black shoes to shine as they were caught in the light emanating from one of the pretty stone lamps set up to illuminate the garden paths.

"So?" Eames asked. "Relax, darling. We already broke into his mind, and he forgave us, so breaking into his house really shouldn't be that much of an issue. Besides, it's for his own good."

"According to Saito, who would have had Robert's father shot, if he could have gotten away with it and who had no scruples about making him destroy the family business."

"Are you getting squeamish now, Arthur? What's done is done."

"Well, I just thought I'd mention it."

"Duly noted. " Eames peered around a large rhododendron. "All clear. Surprisingly enough, Robert did not get paranoid after having his mind invaded. No guards, no dogs… he's almost careless."

"Maybe he sleeps with a gun beneath his pillow."

"Like you do?" Eames teased.

"I like to be prepared."

Eames chuckled softly. "Arthur, darling, between the two of us, we're probably more dangerous than anything that could invade your bedroom at night. You shouldn't _need_ the gun."

Arthur murmured something un-complementary that made Eames want to ruffle his feathers even more, but he resisted the urge. First things first. Cobb and Saito would not be pleased if Robert Fischer died prematurely, and for some reason, trying to make them both happy sounded way more pleasant than the alternative…

* * *

><p>Robert woke up from a nightmare in which his godfather had been trying to asphyxiate him by pressing a gigantic pillow to his face. Once awake, he tried to catch his breath and realized that somebody – not necessarily his godfather - was indeed trying to kill him, because there was really no way that the pillow covering his face could be interpreted in any other way.<p>

Panic gripped him as he almost instinctively started to struggle against the would-be murderer, who pressed down harder, realizing that his target was now awake and still very much alive. He – or she – held Roberts arms down with their knees, but his legs were free and kicking and he put all his remaining strength into breaking free.

The pillow slipped as his attacker momentarily became unbalanced and Robert seized the opportunity, lunging to the side. It was an awkward movement, but it served its purpose. The attacker toppled over with a startled oath and fell of the bed. Robert scrambled as far away as he possibly could, towards the door. He still didn't know who was trying to murder him here, but right now, escaping seemed more important than seeing the killer's face.

He rushed out of the bedroom, just in time to dodge a hand that had try to grip him and ran, not thinking or looking where he was going. On the stairs, he stumbled in his frenzy to escape, fell forward and collided headlong with a solid, warm mass.

_Oh fuck…!_ So there were two of them, maybe even more. They tumbled down the stairs, the other person clinging to him, perhaps instinctively, but more likely in the intention to strangle him. They ended up on the wooden floor at the foot of the stairs with a horrible dull thump. Pain seared through Robert's body from his wrist upwards as his arm was twisted and crushed beneath the other's weight. Tears shot to his eyes, but his survival instinct had kicked in and was in full force, compelling him to move, to do something, to escape or fight back.

The other person was still on the floor. Apparently, he – for even in the twilit room Robert was sure it was a man - had hit his head or some other fragile body part, and judging from the low moan, it hurt pretty badly. Robert lost no time and pounced. Take this one out for good, then get the phone, call the cops and run. It seemed like a good plan, at least in his almost hysterical state of mind.

However, the other man apparently wasn't hurt as badly as Robert had thought, and he sure as hell moved fast. Instead of knocking him out, Robert wound up having to wrestle for his life for the second time that night, and even though he was slender, the other guy was at least an equal match in strength.

_My life sucks_, Robert though grimly.

"Goddammit, _will_ you stop it…?" His opponent panted. The voice was startlingly familiar. In fact, Robert was surprised enough to let his hands drop to his sides and stare blankly.

"_Arthur?_" Of all the people he had not expected…!

"Yes," the point man confirmed, still out of breath and sounding supremely annoyed. "Now get off me."

Right. Arthur wasn't a fan of prolonged bodily contact with any life form, including Yusuf's cat.

… and his mind was acting oddly, spitting out thoughts like that. _Brain damage from asphyxiation, anyone?_

"But what are you doing here?"

"Trying to save your life." Arthur had gotten up now and was straightening his waistcoat.

"Oh." Well… now that was good to hear. "Let me turn on the light."

"No. The person trying to kill you is still in the house." He paused, apparently contemplating options, before making a decision. "You stay here. Or better yet, lock yourself into a room. Preferably one without a potential murderer in it."

_Very funny, Arthur._

"Shall I call the police?"

"No. Too much noise. We'll take care of it."

So Arthur had not come alone. Robert idly wondered how many people he had brought along and how he had known in the first place that somebody was going to try and kill Robert that night. It would have been nice to know about that in advance, too.

But Arthur was already moving up the stairs, a gun in his raised hands. Robert decided that locking himself into a room was starting to sound pretty damn tempting if this was going to be a shootout. The nearest lockable room was the pantry next to the kitchen, and he just hoped that his housekeeper would have left the key in the lock. Carefully and as quietly as possible, he crossed the room and slinked into the hallway.

He had passed the doors to the dining room and a guest bathroom and come as far as the open doorway leading into the large sitting room that opened up to the flower-filled sunroom, when a shot rang through the house. Robert stopped dead in his tracks, before turning around to run back in the direction of the sound.

It was a stupid thing to do, really. He even knew that it was stupid while he did it, but for some reason, he was unable to stop himself. The thought of one of his friends getting shot because he was trying to catch the person who had tried to kill Robert was unbearable, and Arthur _was_ a friend. Certainly not his best friend, but they got along well and made a point of sharing dinner or playing golf together whenever Arthur was in town.

In the parlor, not ten feet from where he had collided with Arthur on the stairs, Robert ran into the second person that night, only that this time, he landed on top of the man who might or might not have shot Arthur. In any case, he was a potential threat and Robert's survival instinct that had temporarily been smacked by his loyalty to a friend, flared up again. Remembering the self defense lessons his father had made him take as a boy, he was about to choke the other guy into unconsciousness, because no matter what happened, he did not want to wind up a murderer himself, when somebody pressed something hard and cold to his back. Metal. A weapon.

_Fuck._

"Put your hands up, slowly, or I'll shoot you."

"Arthur?" _Again? What the hell…? First you say that you're here to save me, now you threaten to kill me?_

Judging from Arthur's voice and the gun pressed to his back, he was dead serious though. Robert complied and raised his hands.

"What the fuck, Arthur…! Are you trying to save me or trying to kill me?"

"I haven't quite made up my mind yet," Arthur deadpanned. "It would help if you got off my fiancé, though. I don't take kindly to half-naked men straddling him, you know."

"Are you crazy?" It was a rhetorical question.

"Get. Off. Him."

"Okay, fine, whatever. Just don't shoot me, okay?"

A spluttering sound rose from below him. The guy on the floor was laughing his ass off.

_I'm surrounded by madmen_, Robert realized as he slowly got up, every muscle in his body protesting. At least, Arthur had taken the gun away and now moved to stand beside him.

"Can I turn the light on?" Robert asked warily.

Arthur nodded. "Yes."

Well, great. Robert flipped the switch, then turned back and felt his chin drop at the sight of a seriously ruffled looking Arthur, who was staring down in obvious annoyance at the man who was lying on the floor, panting and nearly crying with laughter.

"You… are… unbelievable… darling," he gasped.

Robert was inclined to agree with that. "Hello Eames," he said instead.

"I shot your girlfriend," Arthur told him, still staring at Eames.

"You… what?" Just when he had thought it couldn't get any stranger. "But… why…?" Marisa hadn't exactly been his girlfriend, but that didn't make the news any less shocking.

"Because she tried to kill you, you dunce," Arthur huffed. "She ambushed me when I went looking for her upstairs, so I really didn't have much of a choice. I can't say I'm sorry, though. She was working for your dear godfather."

"Browning wants me dead?"

"Well, yeah. You ruined his career, his life, everything. Go figure." Arthur held out a hand to help Eames up, no that the forger had recovered from his laughing fit. Eames took it and got up, still grinning. "You just made my day with that," he said.

"Don't you mean _night_?" Robert replied, distractedly, still trying to sort things out. So Marisa, the pretty little blond secretary who had positively thrown herself at him had been working for his vengeful godfather and trying to kill him? _Go figure, indeed!_

"Well, that too." Eames walked towards him. Robert eyed the forger suspiciously. Considering that he had almost gotten killed two – no, _three_ – times that night, you couldn't really blame him, could you? "What are you…?"

"I am going to kiss you."

Robert instantly backed off. "Um… no thanks…? I don't want Arthur to shoot me, really. Besides, what did I do to deserve that?"

"Do you have any idea how long I've been trying to get Arthur to say yes?"

"Oh." As he ran through the events of the past ten minutes, the possible meaning of both Eames' words and Arthur's odd behavior – or at least part of it – dawned upon him. "Oh. _That_. Er… why don't you go ahead and kiss Arthur instead?"

* * *

><p><em>So now they all know ;) Poor Robert, though, I think he sheduled an appointment with his therapist after this...<em>


	9. Epilogue

Ariadne laughed and clapped her hands when Robert had finished his story.

Cobb shook his head in disbelief. "Seriously, you two are impossible!"

"Well…", Yusuf said slowly, grinning from ear to ear, "now we know that you should never let Dom and Arthur do the babysitting, that Ariadne isn't as diligent a student as she would like us to believe, that Saito sings in the shower " –at this point, Saito interrupted him, stating: "Once again – I wasn't _in the shower_." – "… and that Robert apparently has bad taste in girlfriends."

"Not to mention that _you_ are an insufferable prude," Eames added.

"Hey! I had been awake for about 48 hours and the only thing I wanted was to find a place to sleep. Instead, I had to put up with your antics. What happened when Arthur woke up, anyway?"

"I told Eames in no uncertain terms to get out of my bed and life." Arthur said with a wry smile. "Unfortunately, though, he never listens to me."

"Aw, I'm hurt, pet," Eames replied, but his grin ruined the effect. "Besides, I replaced the ties."

"Yes, but as it turns out, you appear to be color-blind, because you bought pink and turquoise instead of black."

"I thought your life needed a splash of color," Eames told him amiably.

Philippa laughed. "How come you don't like Yusuf's cat, though, Arthur? I think she's adorable!"

Arthur pulled a face. "She makes me sneeze. I'm allergic to cats."

"Did you really kill Robert's girlfriend?" James asked him wide-eyed.

"She wasn't my girlfriend," Robert protested. "Besides, it turned out that she was only unconscious and not even that badly injured. She is now keeping Browning company behind bars."

"That's where the bad guys belong," Philippa said.

"Exactly."

"Now, what really interests me is how many times Eames had to propose before Arthur finally made up his mind," Ariadne threw in, looking at both of them expectantly.

Eames chuckled. "Four. Monte Carlo was actually the second time. Nobody can accuse me of not being persistent enough."

"We wouldn't dream of it," Dom assured him. "I hope it was worth the effort, though."

"Hey!" Arthur protested.

Eames pretended to study his husband-to-be from head to toe before pulling him close and placing a kiss on his front. "It was. I think I'll keep him," he replied fondly.

"I'm glad to hear that," Saito said, "I'd hate having to keep those wedding gifts. I have no use for them."

"Oh?" Eames asked curiously.

"Well, what do you do with a pair of golden scissors, Mr. Eames?"

A moment of stunned silence followed that question, before Ariadne and Philippa erupted into gales of silvery laughter. James looked confused, but maybe he was simply a little too young to understand the joke, Yusuf doubled over at the outraged look on Arthur's face, Robert shook his head, but couldn't keep from grinning and even Dom chuckled.

"You wouldn't dare…!" Arthur breathed, "when did you…?"

"Right after Dom had finished Mal's story, I sent a text message to my favorite shopping assistant, telling her to get them for me. They should be delivered some time tonight," Saito replied calmly and with a benevolent smile that didn't fool anybody.

Arthur looked about ready to strangle him.

"Relax, Arthur. I also told her to place an order for a couple of new suits. "

Yusuf was almost choking from laughter by now, and neither Ariadne nor Philippa were very far behind.

"This is why I warned you beforehand," Arthur told Dom accusingly, "never, ever give a bored billionaire any ideas!"

"He means well," Dom replied mildly, "besides – I doubt that Eames would actually need the scissors."

"No, but I shall put them to good use," Eames said, smirking evilly. "Thanks, Saito. There's only one question remaining – Arthur, dear… how come _Saito_ knows your measurements…?"

Arthur smacked him.

"We have the same tailor in London," Saito explained evenly. "Stop hitting him, Arthur. I'm not an expert on the subject, but I don't think that abusing your future husband is conductive to a harmonious marriage."

"Harmonious…?" Dom asked, raising his brows. "Saito, you're an optimist."

* * *

><p>Despite Dom's dire prediction, the onset of the marriage was harmonious enough. The wedding day dawned clear, fresh and sunny. Birds were twittering as Eames was roused from his sleep by Ariadne entering the room carrying an enormous bouquet of tropical flowers. She proceeded to arrange them in two large vases, humming softly.<p>

"What exactly are you doing?" Eames asked sleepily.

"Philippa and I are decorating the house a bit. Weddings need flowers, don't you think?"

"Maybe, but _I _need more sleep."

"No, you don't. You need to get up and shower and get dressed, because you are having breakfast with your future in-laws."

"What?" Eames was not happy about this. "Whose idea was that?"

"Arthur's. You are having breakfast with his family, and he is having breakfast with yours. It's so you all get to know each other a little better. I think it's a good idea."

"But Ariadne… Arthur's family _hates me!_"

"Don't be silly, of course they don't hate you! His Mom said a lot of nice things about you."

"Yeah? Well, his father barely talks to me and the last time I had dinner with them, his grandmother threatened to kill me if I wouldn't leave my hands off her only grandson and stop corrupting him."

"She's a little old fashioned," Ariadne conceded, "but otherwise, she's a lovely old lady. You probably just misunderstood her. She _was_ speaking French, wasn't she? Now get up, or you'll be late."

"I hate Arthur," Eames fumed.

"No, you don't. You love him. Which is why you'll get up and play along."

She was right, of course.

* * *

><p>Arthur's grandmother did not attempt to murder Eames, unless you could count nearly choking him whilst straightening his tie as such. She was prattling in French, happily spouting what could have been either good wishes or death threats. Eames decided that he was better off not knowing. Arthur's Mom, on the other hand, was really sweet, so he was inclined to forgive her mother.<p>

He idly wondered how Arthur was faring with his mother, stepfather and sisters. Eames' twin half sisters were seventeen, a dangerous age. He was not too worried about Bonny, considering that she had recently proclaimed herself a lesbian and the only danger Arthur faced from her was being bored to death by a monologue on feminist theories. Lea, however, had a rather obvious crush on Arthur and was likely to cause a scene.

Maybe the deities of love took pity on him, though, because they managed to get through the breakfast – both breakfasts – without any major catastrophes. Next, Arthur had planned a session with the photographer – wedding pictures, apparently, you couldn't do without them. Eames rolled his eyes inwardly, but was rewarded for his patience when he got to see Arthur for the first time in ten hours – Ariadne had insisted on proper protocol, meaning that they had _not_ spend the night before the wedding in the same bed or even bedroom.

Arthur looked divine. Whoever had tailored his white suit, Eames felt about ready to kiss the person's feet. It took him a full minute to regain control of his body, close his mouth and firmly put his reeling mind back into place. _Jesus._ Arthur was gorgeous in anything or nothing, but this…!

Arthur's mother, wonderful creature that she was, chuckled and patted his shoulder, whispering: "He is all yours."

Across the room, Eames saw his sister Bonnie rolling her pretty blue eyes at him and couldn't resist the urge to stick out his tongue at her. "What? I'm entitled to a little staring!"

Arthur walked over, smiling, and leaning in for a quick kiss… that turned into a more thorough kiss, because Eames felt that he absolutely had to demonstrate his appreciation for the suit. "I'm going to spirit you away, I swear," he murmured.

Arthur laughed. "By all means. Right _after_ the ceremony."

"Spoilsport."

"Come on, let's get those pictures over with."

* * *

><p>The pictures taken, everybody moved to the terrace that had undergone a major redecoration. It was overflowing with flowers. Ariadne and Philippa had apparently been busy.<p>

They were obviously not going to hold the ceremony in a chapel, but considering that neither he nor Arthur were very religious, Eames didn't care. By this point, he actually wouldn't have cared if the ceremony had been performed by a voodoo priestess or the Major of New York City. Ten years, Eames thought, slightly awed. He had been waiting for ten years to get to this point. It hadn't felt that long, but they had certainly been through a lot together.

Not daring to look at Arthur yet, Eames let his gaze travel over the sea of smiling faces. Friends and family, they were all beaming at him. Happily. Thoughtfully. Smugly. Giggly. There was not an unfriendly sentiment visible on any of those faces, though.

The legal person – whatever her exact job or position was, Eames hadn't been listening – greeted them with a smile and asked everybody to take their places.

_Here we go_.

Ariadne moved to his side, and Dom to Arthur's. There was no actual necessity for witnesses, but they had decided early on that it would be a nice gesture.

The ceremony was simple enough, compared to the elaborate festivities surrounding it. They exchange their vows, and Eames briefly got lost in Arthur's deep brown eyes, and he felt stupid, but at the same time giddy with happiness when he blinked away a tear at the sound of Arthur's solemn, yet clearly audible "yes".

He found himself staring down at the ring on his finger in stunned disbelief, and then it was over and there was clapping from the crowd, shouts of congratulations and good wishes. Cool fingers brushed his skin and Arthur lifted his chin with his hand, amusement dancing in his eyes. "I would have thought it was obvious, but apparently I need to remind you – this is where we kiss."

He bent forward, their lips touched and suddenly, it was real.

"I'm not dreaming, am I?" Eames asked in a whisper, reflexively reaching for his totem.

"I sure hope not!" Arthur said, squeezing his hand. "Which pocket?"

* * *

><p><em>They are married! A few comments on this last part of the story, before I thank you all for your comments and your encouragement… I sort of followed the German legislation, concerning the layout and formalities of the ceremony (for example the thing about the witnesses), even though, from the point of perspective of our current legal system, two men actually getting married would (sadly) be wishful thinking. We have "civil unions", not gay marriages, because, you know, the sun would go out and the Earth stop rotating and the universe would come to a horrible and sudden end if we'd allow two people who love each other to get married, regardless of their sex. <em>

_Also, Paramore7, I'm afraid you'll have to get Eames something else, since Saito beat you to the scissors ;)_

_Once again, thank you all for your lovely reviews. I am glad you enjoyed this as much as I did. I will do a little bonus chapter, even though it's officially finished now._


	10. Bonus

**- *BONUS*** -

* * *

><p>Getting up early on the day <em>after<em> his wedding, when he had already been forced out of his bed by Ariadne on the actual wedding day, had not been on Eames' agenda. However, Arthur could be amazingly persuasive, especially when he was wearing no clothes and giving him _that look_, so a rather surprised but not unhappy Eames found himself up and about by eight o'clock.

They had breakfast on the terrace, watching Saito doing some sort of yoga exercises, and Arthur had to quickly shut up Eames with a kiss to prevent him from laughing out loud at the sight. But even he had to admit that it looked kind of funny.

Everybody else was apparently still asleep, so they decided to take a walk along the beach.

"You need to take your shoes of," Eames told Arthur, beckoning to his own naked feet.

"And step into something? No thanks."

"Don't be a spoilsport, love. It's fun!"

Arthur made a noncommittal sound, but in the end agreed to take his shoes off. Eames secretly congratulated himself to the first victory of the day.

They rounded some large rocks and a wave splashed Arthur's pants. His look of righteous indignation was positively adorable and Eames simply had to kiss him… thoroughly. Which led to both of them almost stumbling and Arthur's pants getting even wetter. He didn't seem to mind anymore, though.

_My, my, easily distracted, aren't we, pet…?_ Eames laughed in delight.

Suddenly, Arthur grabbed his arm. Eames stopped in mid-movement, frowning. "What…"

"Hush!" Arthur put a finger to his lips, then pointed off to the left. At first, Eames didn't know what to look for, but then he realized that they were not alone.

"Hey, somebody else apparently had the same idea as we did," he whispered, "Only they went swimming, too… that's a cute bikini Ariadne's wearing…"

"Stop staring!" Arthur hissed, hitting him with his elbow.

"Ouch! I wasn't… I just said that it's cute! Wait – why exactly is Robert…? Oh. _Oh_."

"Oh indeed," Arthur replied mirthfully.

"But why didn't they tell us?" Eames asked, perplexed. "Ariadne and Robert…! Who would have guessed? That's so cute…"

"It seems to be a fairly recent development," Arthur said, watching the oblivious couple shrewdly. Ariadne was standing on tiptoes, leaning in for a kiss.

"I say we sneak up behind them and yell _'surprise!'_" Eames suggested, grinning.

"No." Arthur shook his head. "Let's leave them alone, for the time being."

"You're no fun," Eames complained.

"I'm not? I thought I heard otherwise last night… anyway… this will be our _'guess how we found out'_-story ten years from now, Eames."

Eames' grin broadened. "Ten years? Nah… that's just us, pet. I say five at the most."

"Two." Arthur stated, after studying Ariadne and Robert for a moment.

"That sounds about right. Robert'll ask her about six months from now, on their anniversary, and she'll decline, because that's what girls do the first time… then it'll take him another year to work up the courage to ask again. She'll agree and that leaves them another six months for the wedding preparations, so… two years. Sounds good. Wanna guess how many kids they'll have?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?"

"I suppose you're right. Ariadne and Robert came second with the wedding, so they're second on the kids part, too. We, on the other hand…"

"Hah! In your dreams, Eames, in your dreams!"

"That might actually not be a bad idea. But I'm serious. With our timing, love, we had better start planning right now…"

"You start planning. I'll just struggle, complain and refuse like I'm supposed to," Arthur replied, grinning.

"I love you," Eames said emphatically, placing a quick kiss on his front, "but you need to start thinking about alternative names to call me. Using our shared last name will sound kind of funny to other people's ears."

Arthur's eyes lit up and his grin turned somewhat evil. "I'll think of something…" he promised.

"… I don't like the sound of that…"


End file.
